I Filed for Divorce

I just couldn't take it anymore. It was a really bad relationship. You disappointed me daily and brought me down. You overwhelmed me and disrupted my work. You made me think awful things about people I really didn't even care to know about. You isolated me from my friends in your weird, manipulative way. You made me compulsive, obsessive and stalkerish. I'm divorcing you, Facebook.

I think the final straw was a nice long email from a great friend, not on Facebook. It was a comprehensive recap of some of the things his young son was doing, recent trips, work highlights and family updates. It made me think about how I'd been cheating on those communications with you. I'd previously relished in developing correspondence with old friends - coming up with funny memories or anecdotes as we caught up in a quick email exchange. Personalizing my news. Customizing it for each individual rather than delivering factual updates or random thoughts en masse. It made me realize how you'd cheapened my life - and my insight into my friends' lives. So with that, I am finally over you.

It's almost been 24-hours since I said my last goodbye, but you didn't make it easy. You buried your "deactivate" button deep in your countless and confusing security options, taking me nearly 15 minutes to figure out how to finally let you go. Twice throughout the day yesterday, my left index finger instinctively went to the "F" key with the cursor pointed in the URL bar, but that blank ugly sign in form provided the perfect reminder for all I was not missing. You are bland, baseless and boring, Facebook. I refuse to be held captive by your whims any longer. All the cool people stopped posting shit a long time ago. Now all I have to read about is either 1) people with lives exactly like mine or 2) people who are out partying and living the life I used to lead, and both are pretty damn boring. Watching my baby swallow every piece of her dinner is 10x more intriguing to me than the update from the chick who used to sit beside me on the bus in third grade and had a rough trip home that evening.

So with that, Facebook, I'm curbing my voyeuristic inclinations and redirecting my focus. From now on, my family, my work and my FRIENDS will get my focus. See ya.

This Chick Rulz

This chick RULES. Parents are rock stars.

That's all. Happy Friday.

Audios Amigo

"How do I say goodbye to what we had? 

The good times that made us laugh 

Outweigh the bad. I thought we'd get to see forever

But forever's gone away It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday."

**Boyz II Men**

It has been one hell of a week. We're in the process of moving and it's an effing nightmare. Mix moving with moving across state lines - it's like DMV bad. Moving across state lines with a 9-month old? That's like sit in a locked room with Sarah Palin for 48-hours bad. So when I came across this article on the Huff Post where this woman lamented about things lost (reading and hot meals, really?!) and I got really bored and depressed. So tame, honey. And I'm sure YOU were the one that stuck with the trombone throughout high school, weren't you?

So in the spirit of letting off some steam in advance of my long anticipated chick day on Saturday, I thought I would provide my own PG-13 version of the things I used to do before I had children. Mom, sorry again.

1. Day Drinking. If you're half a human, you've spent more than a week of your life, at some point, belly up to at least three bars before 1 p.m. You know what I'm talking about - the kind of day where you crawl into a very dark hole early in the day and emerge several hours later, surprised by the sun, instantly cowering like a gremlin and shriveling beneath its rays.

Fast forward to today. Now I'm that woman with painted scorn on my face as I see you coming out of the bar, trying to usher my kid into the car as quickly as possible. And now I know it's not disapproval on those people's faces, dressed in their church clothes while we were having a Sunday Funday - it's JEALOUSY.

2. Speeding. When I got my first "real" car after college, I felt like the first day I had my license and drove home from volleyball practice in the family Celebrity. Careening around corners, my foot didn't feel comfortable unless it was thoroughly extended and pointed toward the floor. The best part was racing people on the outer belt or down the interstate, giving grannies anxiety attacks as I passed them on the right.

By the time I was 25, I'd racked up a grand total of four speeding tickets in a six-month period, which earned me a nice big trip to the local judge to have my license revoked. Fortunately for me, my brother had a lawyer on his smile retainer who was able to get my last ticket reduced to a "loud muffler" violation.

Now, I feel like a giant ass hat if I breach 10 mph over the speed limit. As my foot draws to the floor like a drunk to White Castle, I look up to my rearview mirror and see that sweet face. And I slow down.

3. Smoking a Ton. I LOVE/D smoking. I loved smoking anything I could smoke. I remember in high school this kid I was studying with was smoking some cool Indian cigarette that stained his lip (AWESOME, let me get a drag of that bizness!). When I lived down under, my roommate suggested we try smoking some of the leaves in the mandarin tree beside our flat and we rolled them up. When April 20th came around, I was ... STUDYING, duh.

Anyway, I haven't sniffed a smoke of anything since the wee one has come into this world. Now I want to punch anyone walking ahead or two miles behind us with a cigarette. I can't BELIEVE that people pay that much for a pack of puffs! I have supplemented that delightful stash of tobacco curls in the bottom of my purse with mum-mums and rattles. I probably don't smell any better for it either.

4.  Sleeping until 2 p.m. Ah, the childless It didn't even have to be a late night to spend the ENTIRE next day in bed. Swimming throughout the pillow sea, we'd make our way to the most amazingly comfortable arrangements, playing in our PJs and talking about what we wanted to be in life.

Now, we're waking at 2 a.m., moaning about life, grabbing for any available pillow and wishing someone would put us out of our misery.

5. Shopping. Back in the day, I'd spend hours tarrying around shopping areas, people watching, scouring for sales and digging deeply in racks trying to find the most interesting print that I was convinced no one else had purchased, let alone seen. My closet was filled with combinations from all types of stores gathered from different parts of the country.

The HuffPost writer laments spending $150, I can't even get in the effing DOOR to give the city my 10 percent sales tax.

6. Rolling with My Homies. From my brother to my huz and my girls, I used to spend hours idling away the hours just hanging out. We might spend 10 hours doing absolutely nothing. It was a really special day if we convened with another group of people or engaged in another social gathering, because we typically were just happy hanging.

Now, I hang with Baldy the Baby, Raylan the Rabbit, Sophie the Giraffe and maybe Grover if I'm lucky.

7. Manicures. Going to get my hands rubbed down was a weekly event. I was BUDS with my nail people. There was John Juan, Kate, Jenny - some of these know more about me than many of my closest friends. There was nothing better than strolling into the salon on a Saturday and just chilling with them, catching up on everything that had happened during the past week or two.

These days, I'm lucky to get the babe's claws cut, let alone my own. My fingers look like they came from West Virginia along with the bags beneath my eyes.

8. Swearing. I like swearing. A whole bunch. Particularly when someone cuts me off and I feel like throwing something at their car. But I think the worst word I've ever heard my mom say was "hell" and that might have been in reference to the actual place. While you won't ever catch me EVER uttering, "H - E - double hockey sticks," my days dropping bombs are in the rear view mirror. Fuck.  

Mama's Got Big Guns

"Flexin, flexin, all day I'm flexin'. If flexin' was a crime then somebody come arrest me."
- The ever prolific Young Jeezy 

Yesterday, while walking back to the office from a quick trip to Trader Joe's on State and Ontario, I realized that mama is STACKED. In my bags, I carried not one or two bottles of wine, but four (don't worry ma, we've got visitors coming) and a six pack of beer for the huz, and it didn't even phase me. Back in the day, I'd made it to the corner of Clark before having to massage my arms. Now, after months of rocking 25 lbs of love in my arms every day, I've got arms of STEEL, baby! 
You want tickets?

Jan Jams

January sucks. Well, unless it's your birthday, January sucks. Fortunately for me and the other other bajillion Capricorns out there who likely drink work too much and don't play enough (at least according to this site), a good playlist can help break up the monotony that is going to work, go home, play with, feed and bathe the babe, play with the huz and go to bed.

For a little boogie in your night (or day), peep the following:

1: I LOVE Andre 3000 like I love Budweiser and a good pair of red heels. This new jam, in intense anticipation of the March 13th album release, makes me happy: Play the Guitar

2: The new Black Keys album: The whole thing is fantastic, but check out Sister or Hell of a Season. Both quality jams.

3. Mama loves some Keith Urban. That being said, I would have been better off spending the $20 on his last two albums on some BOGO deal at Payless. "You Gonna Fly" is reminiscent to the epic jams on his Be Here album though, so I may have to give it a shot.

4. The title track off Florence + the Machine's new album is worthy of easy Sunday cleaning tunes - or a baby dance jam.

5. And for a fun, final way to close out this very short playlist, definitely give Lykke Li's "I'm Good, I'm Gone." It's not new, but it's cute, fun and lighthearted for those sunless, dreary, January days.

Top 10 Gifts for Parents of Teething Babies

It’s the most wonderful time of the year – but not for parents of teething babes. Can you imagine what it must be like to have multiple sharp objects penetrating the surface of your gums? I mean, I get a canker sore and I’m bitching – I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a mountain range popping up in your mouth.  Unfortunately, a pained infant equals distraught parents who frantically seek to tame their screaming little monsters. It’s really not a fun time for anyone.

If you know any parents of teething babies, below are a few gifts ideas that will go the distance:

1. Sophie. This dog-toy turned baby teether phenomenon, Sophie the Giraffe is a phenomenal toy to tame even the fussiest of babies. She squeaks, gleeks and pacifies babes everywhere. And she’s cute.

2. Whiskey. While an age-old remedy, whiskey can also be good for parents of teething babes. Buy them a nice bottle so they can enjoy several glasses before bed to ensure a restful sleep.

3. Cool cubes. Ice is good for aching gums – and also for whiskey on the rocks. These stylish ice cubes can entertain the sorest mouth and add a little fun to a much needed drink. 

4. iTunes gift card. For when they can’t take it any longer, give wearisome parents an iTunes gift card to rock out to a new album like Feist or Florence. Let them turn up the tunes and drown out the noise.

5. A year supply of aspirin. Babies teethe for a LONG ass time. To help reduce the pain of parents and babies alike, a year’s supply of aspirin is just what the doctor ordered.

6. A weekend getaway. Be a good friend and HOOK IT UP. Treat tired parents to a weekend getaway in a nearby big city or weekend hiatus in a tranquil B&B. Check out Bloomspot Travel for great deals.

7. Biscuits. Who doesn’t love a good soggy biscuit? Dogs love them. And the British. 

8. Massage. Just because the babies are in pain doesn’t mean parents should also suffer. Help relieve stress and anxiety with a deep tissue or hot massage. Groupon and YouSwoop seem to have regular deals on good massages – snag one of those up for a friend.

9. Cool towel set. When babies teethe, they drool--a lot. This drool can wreak as much havoc on a business suit or blouse as spit up. Equipping parents with a cool burp cloth set or equally cool and effect dish towel set can help them to protect their best garb stain free.

10. A free night of babysitting. Don’t have the resources to give them a trip away, but want to offer them some freedom from the wailing? Offering five hours of your time so they can do some shopping, see a movie or just get out of the house will likely mean more than anything you can buy them.

HERE’s to some sleep this holiday season!

Time Out - Cosmo Country

Buschtinis

The Country Music Awards (CMAs) are an annual event in our household. They present an opportunity to celebrate our rural roots and enjoy some of life's finer - and simpler - pleasures.

Now, I realize that the combination of the words "country" and "music" likely make many of your hairs stand on end, but I believe this is a culturally Pavlovian response.  If you like the 'Biebs (J. Bieber) and "hate" country or "listen to everything but country," give it five minutes - replace any of his references to girls with "beer" or "trucks" and the tracks are interchangeable. It's like Katie Couric and headaches - country and music just go together.

In our home, there's a defined decorum for celebrating this time-honored tradition. And as with many holidays, this is centered around the fare. While not a huge country music fan, the huz looks forward to the CMAs each year because of the food - and such refined fare it is! (shameless plug - for a variety of amazing fare options, check out the huz's site.)

down home delights

This year's menu included the following:

Country fried steak
Collard greens
Mashed 'taters

And this year's beverage of choice? Busch Light

E's bromance with ZB

With the baby asleep, mom and dad were ready to rock. We had previously selected our favorites and placed bets on who would win the most categories. With gravy and beer a'flowin', we squinted from the glare of Carrie Underwood's legs, shook our heads at Brad Paisley's terrible jokes and watched performances of some of our favorite songs of the year. We wished Eric Church would have sang Smoke a Little Smoke, that we would have seen a little less of Thompson Square *what is that song about anyway* and that Keith Urban would have karate chopped Taylor when she guffawed and sapped over winning entertainer of the year, but it was a great night and an even better way for mom and dad to have some fun at home.